


You're the One That I Love (and i'm saying goodbye)

by heartshapedcandy



Series: Clarke and Lexa College AU [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartshapedcandy/pseuds/heartshapedcandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Clarke tells Lexa (and the one time she doesn’t)</p><p>or </p><p>another addition to the college AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're the One That I Love (and i'm saying goodbye)

1.

The dorm kitchen is far too small for the three of them. 

 

If it was just Clarke and Raven, Clarke is sure that they would manage.  Raven is surprisingly amazing at baking, neat and methodical, years of chem labs and the gift of steady hands making her baking into an exact science.  Clarke deems herself proficient, she grew up making cookies with her dad on every holiday, gifting them to her mom eagerly when she got home from long shifts at work. 

 

But Octavia is a fucking mess.  She has somehow managed to get flour smeared up into her hairline, batter flecks her hands and shirt, and something that looks like cinnamon is sprinkled across the bridge of her nose.  This might make sense if the brownies they are baking for Bellamy’s birthday this week even contain cinnamon, but they don’t.  After an unfortunate event that ended in six cracked eggs, Octavia was delegated to the job of cheerleader and, occasionally, stirrer. 

 

Clarke wonders if Octavia might just be messing up a little bit on purpose, stirring with an exaggerated amount of verve even for her, so Raven will come up behind her to help.  Their first batch was almost ready to be poured into the pan but was currently being stirred a little too thoroughly as Raven reaches around Octavia’s waist to hold the spoon, Octavia giggling as she leans back into her. 

 

Clarke props a hand on her hip and heaves out a sigh.  “Okay guys, Jesus.  I think that’s good, we don’t need to reenact the entire scene from _Ghost_.” 

 

Raven pulls back guiltily while Octavia just rolls her eyes, licking a drop of batter from her finger, “Calm down Clarke, we are just being safe.”  She exchanges a look with Raven and winks, “Only the best for Bell, my big bro is turning 21.” 

 

Clarke moves around her to pour the batter into the pan, scraping the sides smoothly with the spatula.  She looks appraisingly at the pan. 

 

“We are definitely going to need to make at least one more batch if we want to have even a fraction of enough for the party Saturday,” Clarke says stepping away from the counter and pulling out her phone.  “I’m going to call Lexa to get us the ingredients we are missing,” she hovers her thumb over the call button and glances back up at Raven and Octavia.  “So, we need chocolate chips and, what? Like, more vanilla?”

 

Octavia looks up guiltily holding up the empty egg carton between two fingers, the last egg now cracked on the counter, yellow yolk spilling broken from the shell. “I think we need more eggs, too.”

 

Raven clutches her sides as she laughs and Clarke throws up her hands.  “Oh my God, Octavia,” she says, voice exasperated and pitched, “you are like the most athletic person I know.  You would think some of that grace would carry over.”

 

Octavia shrugs and swipes her finger absently through the dripping yolk, “Bellamy always cooked for us at home.” She takes the paper towel that Raven offers her and wipes it up.  “I do feel kinda bad for the chick this egg could have been though.”

 

Clarke just stares at her disbelieving while Raven smiles, head propped on her hand.  “That’s not the way it works, O,” Raven says still smiling softly, “these eggs were probably produced by chickens who lay eggs whether or not they are fertilized, plus the embryos wouldn’t have even been developed yet.”

 

“Oh,” Octavia says, tossing the paper towel in the trashcan, “I feel better knowing no chicks were harmed in the making of these brownies.”  She turns back to Raven with a grin, “Bellamy’s birthday party extravaganza will not be responsible for the blood of many.”

 

Raven stands up straighter, raising an eyebrow, “Not yet anyway.”

 

Octavia laughs, “Oh yeah, R? Do you have big murder plans for the party?”

 

Raven steps closer, “You know I do,” she says, lips pulling into a sidewise smirk. 

 

Clarke just grimaces at both of them, “Have I mentioned that your banter makes no sense?” she turns back to her phone, hitting the dial button next to Lexa’s name, “Now shut up, I’m calling.”

 

Lexa picks up on the second ring, answering with a breathless “Clarke?”

 

Clarke huffs a laugh into the phone line.  “What are you doing? You sound out of breath.”

 

Lexa heaves a sigh into the receiver, “I just got out of class.”

 

Clarke pouts her lips sympathetically even though Lexa can’t see her.  “Was it bad? You sound tired.”

 

Clarke can practically see Lexa shrug.  “It wasn’t too bad,” Lexa says, but Clarke can hear the lie. 

 

“So what do you need, Clarke?” Lexa asks, voice more even now.

 

Clarke shakes her head and glances at the counter, ignoring Raven and Octavia who have moved onto arguing about something.

 

“Can you pick up some stuff and meet us in the dorm kitchen?” she asks.

 

“Yes, of course,” Lexa says, “the one on the second floor?”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke replies, “and we need—” she pauses, remembering, “chocolate chips—semisweet—vanilla and,” she shoots a glare at Octavia who isn’t paying attention, “another carton of eggs. A twelve pack to be safe.”

 

“Of course, Clarke,” Lexa says, and Clarke feels that familiar spark in her stomach, the very timbre of Lexa’s voice a comfort.  Everything about the way that Lexa speaks Clarke loves.  Her voice is so clear and direct, unwavering and strong, with a low bite when she gets angry.  Clarke likes the way that Lexa speaks only for her, soft and melting, almost dazed when she looks directly at Clarke. 

 

“Thank you,” Clarke says, more husky then she means to. 

 

There is a pause before Lexa says “You’re welcome.”

 

Clarke grins into the receiver and lowers her voice, ignoring Raven and Octavia who stop and look at her.  “Say it,” she says, insistent and teasing. 

 

Another pause, longer this time, before Lexa says “You're very welcome?”

 

“Lexa,” Clarke whines, waiting impatiently until she hears Lexa whisper the words through the line, melty and a little abashed.

 

“I love you,” she says and Clarke shivers, closing her eyes. 

 

“I love you, too,” Clarke says back, turning away from Raven, who is pulling a disgusted face, and Octavia, who is smiling knowingly at her. 

 

Clarke hears the line disconnect but keeps the phone to ear, still smiling into the receiver. 

 

They spend the next twenty minutes splayed out on the kitchen floor.  Raven sitting propped against the counter while she braids Clarke’s hair distractedly, carrying on some conversation with Octavia while she winds her hands through Clarke’s hair, soothing and slow. 

 

Clarke fidgets with her phone, shuffling it from hand to hand as the kitchen fills with the smell of the baking brownies.  Octavia peeks into the oven and turns to them, grinning triumphantly. 

 

“These are going to kick ass!” she says, grabbing Raven by the shoulder and hauling her up to make her take a look into the oven as well. 

 

“No thanks to you,” Clarke grumbles, looking down at her phone.  She glances back up, “I’m going to go meet Lexa, help her carry the stuff.”

 

Octavia and Raven nod without looking at Clarke, instead running their finger around the rim of the empty batter bowl, collecting chocolate on their fingers to lick clean.  Clarke suppresses her urge to make a comment about germs and leaves the kitchen, speed walking through the common area and quick stepping down two flights of stairs. 

 

She slams out the dorm doors, and sees Lexa approaching.  Lexa’s backpack is slung heavy across her back and she totes a grocery bag in one hand.  She is glowering at the walkway, avoiding eye contact with passing students.  She doesn’t notice Clarke until Clarke snags the grocery bag from her hand, hooking it around her own wrist.  Lexa jars out of her melancholy then, her face resuming a somewhat more impassive expression as she watches Clarke watch her.

 

Clarke takes her hand unhindered by the grocery bag and presses her thumb against the corner of Lexa’s mouth.  She traces Lexa’s upper lip, watching her mouth part slightly and her eyes dart down to look at Clarke’s lips.  Clarke moves her hand to Lexa’s shoulder, pulling at her backpack strap until she can slip it free, slinging the bag over her own shoulders.

 

“Better now?” she asks, delighting in the way that Lexa’s mouth curves into a smile.  She kisses her then, lips tracing the shape of her mouth like her thumb did before.  Lexa nods into her, nudging her nose into the round of Clarke’s cheek. 

 

“You smell like brownies,” she whispers against Clarke’s mouth, before moving their lips together again, a little more insistent as she kisses Clarke’s top lip firmly. 

 

Clarke pulls back and cups Lexa’s cheek, “There’s a reason for that,” she says smiling now, “I’ll let you puzzle it out, genius.”

 

Lexa fixes her with an un-amused stare and Clarke grabs her hand, tugging her toward the dorm doors.  She scans her card before pushing them open, guiding Lexa through the halls, trying to tease another smile out of her. 

 

They stumble into the kitchen abruptly, Clarke weighed down by the weight of the bags and the extra heft of pulling a slightly resisting Lexa.  Upon entering they find Octavia and Raven standing an awkward two feet apart.  Raven’s hands are twisted nervously in front of her, she is red faced and determinedly looking at the floor.  Octavia stares at Lexa and Clarke with wide eyes and an expression Clarke can’t quite read.  Octavia and Raven avoid eye contact like the possibility of their glances meeting will kill them. 

 

Clarke searches for an explanation but finds none, just the air thick with the smell of baking brownies and the bag of flour, knocked over, a cloud of white haloing it on the counter. 

 

Raven exhales harshly and brushes her hands together, looking up at Clarke and Lexa.

 

 “I need to go,” she says firmly, “believe it or not, my life doesn’t revolve around making sure Bellamy can get his sugar fix.”  She glances at Octavia once quickly, “I have homework and shit.’

 

 “Okay,” Clarke says, dropping Lexa’s hand and frowning, “That’s totally fi—” she is cut off by Octavia who pushes away from the counter, running a hand messily through her hair.

 

“Yeah me too,” Octavia says, she gestures at the messy kitchen, “I’m terrible at this anyway.”

 

Her and Raven both move toward the door, pausing awkwardly as they realize they can’t pass through two abreast.  As soon as they navigate the exit, Raven shoots off to the left while Octavia beelines for the stairway. 

 

Clarke watches them go, still frowning.  “What the fuck was that?” she asks.  Lexa shrugs disinterestedly, but still looks after them, face almost sympathetic. 

 

Their observation is interrupted by the ding of the timer and Clarke hurries to the oven, fitting mitts over her hands as she retrieves the pan, setting it down on the stovetop.  She shrugs off Lexa’s back pack, placing the grocery bag on the counter. 

 

“Ready to make more?” she asks Lexa, turning to her with a crooked eyebrow and a pleased grin.  Lexa just glances around the kitchen, mouth set and hands folded appraisingly behind her back.  “What are you thinking?” Clarke says, glancing around the kitchen as well. 

 

“Just that there is a lot of counter space,” Lexa says, stepping forward now to press Clarke against the counter, one hand finding its way to her hip, the other tangling in Clarke’s hair. 

 

“I guess Octavia and Raven had the right idea,” Lexa says as she ducks her head toward Clarke’s neck.  Clarke tries to pull away then, fully confused and brow furrowed.

 

“What?” she tries to ask, but is distracted by Lexa’s tongue licking up her neck.  Clarke’s hands move to grip the counter and she throws her head back with a whimper. 

 

They leave the kitchen an hour later, Clarke clutching two bins of brownies and Lexa sporting an array of flour hand prints on her back and jeans.  Clarke notices but says nothing, just nuzzles into Lexa’s shoulder and tries not to smile. 

2\.  

Lexa is facing away from her in her bed, propped on her side, back bared to Clarke’s hand.  Clarke runs her fingers over the harsh jut of Lexa’s shoulder blades and the ridges of her spine.  Lexa does not turn to face her or respond to Clarke’s touch, simply remains facing the far bedroom wall, unmoving and rigid.  Her skin, usually soft and pliant under Clarke’s touch, remains tense until Clarke pulls her hand back. 

 

Clarke is overwhelmed suddenly with a deep feeling of almost-panic.  She wonders if she has done something wrong and, upon further reflection, she realizes that Lexa has been acting strange all night. 

 

It started like their usual Friday, with Clarke coming over in pajamas, loose and sleepy.  Lexa braided Clarke’s hair with smart, quick hands and kissed Clarke’s cheek every time that she turned to look at Lexa over her shoulder. 

 

The shift hadn’t really occurred until they had slipped into bed and, looking back, the differences seem so obvious that Clarke feels a rush of heady guilt for not noticing earlier.

 

Lexa hadn’t made the same noises she usually did when Clarke touched her, communicating her pleasure in small muted whimpers rather then her normal whines and eager clutch of hands.   She had her eyes closed tightly when she came, a stark contrast to the usual open eyed wonder with which she regarded Clarke, hopeful and deep and reverent.

 

And now she was turned away, curled in on herself, even with the sound of her sighs still impressed in the air and her arousal still sticky on Clarke’s fingers. 

 

Lexa turns over onto her back after Clarke moves back slightly, the sheet pulled up over her chest, arms held rigidly at her side.  Clarke studies her, still staying back.  She realizes with a jolt that this girl, all clenched jaw and cold eyes and rigid mouth, is not her Lexa.   This is the Lexa she sees walking across the quad alone between classes, the Lexa that debates, with tempered ferocity, in a charged government class. 

 

Clarke moves back even further, pressing herself to the wall.  “Lex?” she asks, quiet and soft as though Lexa will startle, “Babe? Are you okay?”

 

Lexa turns to look at her, face almost registering confusion but still slightly stuck in her solemn haze. 

 

Clarke thinks about the way Lexa tensed underneath her earlier and her stomach flips uneasily.  She wants to reach out to touch Lexa, but is scared of what might happen if she does, scared that her hand will pass through this phantom girl next to her, finding only empty sheets and a cold pillow.

 

“Because—” Clarke starts, swallowing hard, “If I did something that made you uncomfortable I won’t ever do it again? And, like, obviously if you ever feel pressured we don’t even have to have sex.  I am so good with just being around you.” Clarke is full on babbling now, eyes turned to the ceiling, avoiding Lexa’s gaze which she expects is still vacant and unfeeling.  “We don’t even have to kiss,” Clarke continues words blurring together, “we can just like do homework?”

 

She is interrupted by the shift of the bed as Lexa sits up, the sheet that had been clutched around herself falling to pool around Lexa’s waist, leaving her bare and exposed.  Clarke still doesn’t look at her until she feels a hand tugging on her wrist.

 

“Sweetie,” she hears, “what are you talking about?”

 

Clarke lets her gaze travel away from the ceiling and meets Lexa’s gaze.  Lexa’s brow is crinkled and confused, her fingers stroking at the inside of Clarke’s wrist as she allows Clarke to continue to search her face. 

 

Clarke lets out a breath and shakes her head quickly, “You were—” she starts, unsure how to explain herself, “—distant.  You didn’t moan and your hands were cold and I couldn’t find your smile and—”

 

Lexa shakes her head, completely perplexed now.  “I’m right here,” she says, shifting closer until their bare thighs press and she can nudge her chin into Clarke’s shoulder.

 

Clarke shakes her head and pulls back slightly so she can look Lexa fully in her eyes.  “But you weren’t,” she protests, unsure of why it is so important that she expresses this, “you were gone, just for a little bit.” She flicks her eyes across Lexa’s face, searching for the emptiness again, “Where did you go?”

 

“I didn’t go anywhere, Clarke,” Lexa says, with just the slightest bit of bite borne from her confusion.  She shakes her head, exasperated and amused by Clarke, and leans in to catch Clarke’s top lip between her own.  This leads to her pressing her hands against the slope of Clarke’s ribs, mouth open and wet against Clarke before she has time to protest further. 

 

Clarke forgets her worry at the feel of Lexa’s hand stroking above her knee.  She just topples them back on the pillows, winding her hands in messy curls as a hand smoothes up her thigh.  Clarke settles herself solidly on top of Lexa, leaning down over her, hands still stroking through her hair.  Lexa’s hands settle at the top of Clarke’s legs, thumbing at the warm skin there as they breathe slowly, kissing in nudges and pecks.

 

Clarke tastes Lexa’s honey sweet mouth again and again, enthralled by how alive Lexa is beneath her.  She presses a kiss to Lexa’s temple and then the pout of her bottom lip, laughing at Lexa’s heavy lidded eyes that droop every time Clarke moves in to kiss her again. 

 

“I love you,” Clarke says, mouth pressed against Lexa’s cheek as she whispers the words.  She pulls back slightly so she can see Lexa’s eyes flare wide, lips parting in this quiet wonder that stills her hands and catches at her breath. 

 

Every time Clarke tells her, Lexa acts as though she has never heard such words before.  Like the very act of hearing Clarke speak those syllables is sacred and she needs time to say the proper prayers before she is deserving enough to retaliate. 

 

Lexa worships Clarke with three kisses on Clarke’s stomach that she delivers propped up on her elbows before tilting her head up to see Clarke.  Lexa’s hair falls in a wave down her back and the bow of her lips curves into a small smile as she replies, “I love you, too.” 

 

Clarke doesn’t think of her unease again until later that night.  She wakes up suddenly, jarred from a dream, lying addled and warm in the cradle of Lexa’s arms.  Her head tucked under the welcome curve of Lexa’s jaw, hands stroking up a now supple back.  Her stomach twists as her muddled brain re-conjures the image of Lexa’s unrecognizable vacancy.  She falls asleep to the press of _her_ Lexa, warm and lovely against her, and when she wakes up the next morning, she doesn’t remember the emptiness at all. 

 

3.

 Clarke is starting to realize that Bellamy’s frat’s parties are pretty much synonymous with regret.  And this one, being thrown in honor of his 21st party, has the potential to be the biggest disaster of them all. 

 

It’s only one in the morning and it is already threatening the limits of Clarke’s sanity. 

 

She lost Lexa in the crowd about half an hour ago, and continues to remind herself that her girlfriend is a big girl and is 100% capable of handling herself. She also continues to put out of her mind all the times that she has seen Lexa drunk and the fact that alcohol turns Lexa into a hot mess.

 

She cranes her head to look for her, expecting to hear an overly excited yell of “Clarke!” any second now.  She can’t see or hear her though, and turns back to her current dilemma which takes the form of an incredibly drunk Bellamy that has his hands on her waist as he rocks them from side to side. 

 

“Dance with me, Clarke,” he says for the seventh time in two minutes, and she rolls her eyes before complying.  The speakers are projecting a slew of fast beats and a loud bass that shakes the plastic cups that have found on a home on every counter.  However, regardless of the fast electronic song, Bellamy seems determined to slow dance with her.  She wraps her arms around his neck playfully and rolls her eyes as he cheers as she rocks back and forth with him.  They keep a good six inches of space between their bodies, yet he seems entirely content, grinning down at her, lopsided and eager.

 

“It’s like middle school,” he says, just a bit too loud in her ear.  She cringes away from him, but laughs despite herself. 

 

“Yeah, Bell,” she says, “just like middle school.  Only you are entirely drunk and I can guarantee that _this_ slow dance partner,” she nods down at herself, “will not be giving you a chaste but meaningful kiss at the end of the night.”

 

He nods happily, “I know,” he says, “I just wanted to spend time with my favorite girl,” the words seem to jar him out of his slow dance fog and he lifts his head to survey the room.  “Speaking of favorite girls,” he says, words slurring comically into one another, hands releasing Clarke’s hips so he can shield his eyes as he surveys the room as though that will help improve his vision, “where’s my sister?”

 

Clarke glances quickly at the corner of the room where Octavia has been furiously making out with Lincoln against the staircase for the better part of the party.  His hands have found their way to the back of her thighs, and she clutches at his shoulders with a desperate kind of intensity. 

 

Clarke pulls a face and turns Bellamy so he faces in the opposite direction.  “She’s kinda busy right now, Bell,” she says, patting his shoulder awkwardly, “Maybe Raven will want to slow dance though…” she trails off as she and Bellamy find Raven on the dance floor at the same time.  She has positioned herself in the center of the mob.  She is pressed entirely against a girl that Clarke vaguely recognizes from her Calc class.  Raven’s hands are tangled in the girl’s hair while she presses forward with insistent hips, their mouths nearly touching. 

 

Bellamy and Clarke regard them, Bellamy admiring and Clarke frowning.  “I am kind of worried about her—” she starts, but finds her audience enraptured by a girl that approaches them from across the room. 

 

The girl is tall and lean, a solo cup in each hand, her eyes trained on Bellamy as she winds through the crowd. 

 

“Hey birthday boy,” she says as she reaches them, voice low but somehow still heard over the music, “I kind of figured another drink was the last thing you needed so,” she forces the cup into his hand, “I brought you another drink.”

 

“Wow, that’s so considerate,” Bellamy says, looking at her a little starry-eyed and a little hungry.  Clarke wonders if he mean to inflect sarcasm in that statement and failed, or if he is legitimately just that stupid.  “Echo, was it?” he says, in a way that makes it clear that he knows her name, “Do you think you want to dance?”

 

She smiles at him and rolls her eyes before fitting her hand around his bicep, “I can think of worse things to do.”

 

He grins and starts to tug her deeper into the press of people before she stops him with a light squeeze of his arm, turning to face Clarke.

 

“Oh, your girlfriend is looking for you,” Echo’s face drops into an expression of almost concern before she resets it again, “I would find her if I were you.  She was by the back door last time I saw.” 

 

Clarke ignores the nervous surge in her stomach and nods politely, “Thank you,” she says already planning her most direct route to the back of the house.  Clarke pauses for a second as Bellamy starts to lead Echo away again, “Take care of him,” she tells her seriously, “I’m trusting you to not do anything stupid or let him do something or—”

 

Echo cuts her off with an equally serious nod, regarding Clarke with a new kind of respect.  “I will, I promise.”  They walk away quickly, Bellamy leaning down to whisper something in her ear that makes Echo genuinely laugh, despite herself. 

 

Clarke hurries through the crowd, ignoring the faint protests she receives as she elbows her way through a crowd of the boys’ lacrosse team. 

 

She finds Lexa leaning against a wall, legs splayed in front of her, head lolling back and hand clutching a half empty bottle of vodka. 

 

“Hey baby,” Clarke says, kneeling down next to her, bracing herself for the slur of happy drunken Lexa nonsense that is sure to follow.  She cups Lexa’s chin in her hand, bringing her head up to look at her.  Their eyes meet and Clarke’s chest tightens at the sight.  Lexa’s cheeks are tearstained, her eyes red rimmed, and her bottom lip quivering.  Clarke has never seen Lexa cry in earnest and the sight feels too intimate for a crowded hallway in a frat house.  “Oh God,” Clarke breathes, stroking her thumb across Lexa’s cheek, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

 

Lexa looks up at her and lets out this pitiful whine of “Clarke” that descends into more sniffles and a whimper. 

 

Clarke looks around sharply, scooting closer and pulling Lexa in to nestle into her chest.  Lexa nuzzles against the soft skin of her neck eagerly, face damp with tears and hands desperate as they tangle in the fabric of Clarke’s t-shirt. 

 

“Did someone hurt you?” Clarke asks, stomach plummeting at the thought, “Did someone touch you?”

 

Lexa shakes her head violently against Clarke, pulling Clarke closer against her until Clarke is tipping into her lap, still holding Lexa against her. 

 

Lexa tries to say something, but ends up hiccupping against the line of Clarke’s collarbone.  Clarke presses soothing kiss against Lexa’s hair.  “Can you tell me why you’re crying?” she asks softly, pulling away to cup Lexa’s face again. 

 

The hallway is nearly empty now, no one pays any notice to them, and Lexa’s crying seems to have somewhat calmed as noise around them receded.  Clarke studies Lexa’s face carefully, her mascara is running from her tears and her cheeks are red from over exertion.  Clarke wipes at the black streaks under Lexa’s eyes, laughing as she only seems to smear the makeup more.  Her laugh causes Lexa to relax further, even prompting her to tilt her head so Clarke can better wipe away the excess makeup.

 

This isn’t the drunk Lexa that Clarke is used to, this Lexa is sloppy drunk and sad.  She jumps when the backdoor slams behind one of the party-goers, pulling Clarke close again, as though she will protect her despite her increasingly vulnerable state. 

 

“Lexa,” Clarke says nudging at Lexa’s cheek with her nose, “What’s wrong? Tell me, please?”

 

Lexa looks at her intently, only managing to meet her gaze for a few seconds before her lip starts quivering again.  She gasps out this little breathe and puts her hands on Clarke’s cheeks, looking at Clarke through red, heartbroken eyes. 

 

“I love you,” Lexa says through another gasp, she exhales harshly before holding Clarke even more firmly to get her message across.  “I love you,” she presses a sloppy kiss on Clarke’s mouth that catches the corner of her lips.  “I love you,” she says again, voice breaking by the last syllable, kissing the underside of Clarke’s chin. 

 

Clarke is confused and worried now, brushing a few more tears from Lexa’s cheeks before moving Lexa’s wrists to press her hands over her heart. 

 

“I love you too, Lexa,” she says, beginning to take exaggerated deep breaths that Lexa mimics, “you know that, baby.”

 

Lexa shakes her head hard, lurching forward to press more sloppy, wet kisses across Clarke’s cheeks and forehead.  “I love you,” she sobs, words all waver and wet gasps, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

 

Clarke isn’t sure how to contend with this Lexa, she is almost worried that one of the wrenching breaths that Lexa is taking is going to split her in two.  Clarke moves to cradle Lexa’s jaw again, to hold her together within her trembling frame. 

 

Clarke tilts their foreheads together and puckers her lips to kiss the tip of Lexa’s nose.  “It’s okay,” she says, “I promise, it’s going to be okay.”

 

Lexa shakes her head forlornly against Clarke’s, rubbing their foreheads together without breaking their connection.  “It’s not,” she sighs, so matter of fact and honest that it scares her, “It never is.”  She has stopped her gasping sobs and just sits still, Clarke’s thumbs working to smooth comforting lines over her cheek. 

 

Clarke ignores a lurch of dread that feels painfully familiar and pulls back slightly.  “Let’s get you home, all right?”

 

Lexa inclines her head in a nod, eyes drooping with exhaustion and alcohol, hands moving to fit behind Clarke’s neck. 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa says, simple and final, before dragging herself off the floor and stumbling toward the door.  When they get outside, Lexa looks at the stars like she has never seen them before and intertwines their hands.  Clarke watches Lexa’s breathless face and ignores the unease low in her stomach.  The night is warm, Lexa is somehow smiling, and everything is going to be fine.

 

She forgets that Lexa told her that it won’t be.

 

She forgets that nothing ever is.  

 

4\.  

After the party Lexa retreats again, spending more time studying and less time with Clarke.  Clarke is used to this by now, Lexa’s sporadic yet consistent bouts of self-inflicted solitude.  She knows Lexa will return to her eventually, its one of the things about their relationships she has had to come to terms with.  She lets Lexa hide when she needs to in the same way that when Clarke snaps, with angry words and undirected heat, Lexa lets her yell.  Watching her, solemn and silent, as Clarke screams herself hoarse, there when Clarke is done with gentle hands and a soft mouth. 

 

It has been days since her and Lexa have seen each other and Clarke almost forgets to miss her.  A fact that would have ached deep in her stomach a few weeks earlier, but now just leaves her a little empty and spinning. 

 

Clarke lets herself get caught up with classes and art, lazing with Raven in her free time.  The two of them sprawling, lonely and sympathetic, on one dorm bed, limbs tangled as they study or watch TV.

 

They pick Grey’s Anatomy back up from the beginning, and without Lexa there it feels eerily like no time has passed at all since first semester.  Clarke stills cries at all the sad parts even though she figures she should expect them the second time around.  She turns her face away when Raven cries too, and Raven pokes at her with a foot in thanks when the scene is over. 

 

At some point during the week, Octavia starts to join them in their apathetic laze.  Clarke notices her and Raven’s awkward words.  She internally rejoices when things start to fall back to normal, with Octavia laughing at Raven’s shitty jokes and Raven curling into Octavia’s shoulder absently as they microwave pop-corn in the corner of their dorm. 

 

Clarke stops waiting for Lexa to knock on the door. 

 

“She’ll be back after this big paper,” Raven says one night, “just like always.”

 

Clarke nods, tapping her pencil against her leg.  She tries not to think that there will always be a paper or a test or a reason to retreat when things get tough.

 

She nearly stops in the middle of the quad just to scream at the sky but waits until she is home to scream into her pillow instead.  She stops when her throat aches and her eyes sting.  Lexa isn’t there to soothe her with a kiss and low teasing about how “worrying is foolishness, Clarke”, so she falls asleep still wound tight, curled into a tangle of comforters, alone and smarting. 

 

Clarke finds herself bored and dozing in Art 101, she considers texting Lexa, but the idea that she might not respond kills the desire.  She draws her instead, sketching out the narrow set of her jaw on a scrap of graph paper she scrounges up at the bottom of her bag.  Clarke easily draws the regal line of Lexa’s nose and her heavy-lidded eyes, long lashed and deep.  But she can’t draw her smile. 

 

Clarke tries again and again, on the back of old tests she finds in her backpacks, on napkins leftover from lunch and the margin of her textbook.  She draws Lexa pouting and frowning, draws her solemn and un-amused.  But she can’t find that smile, the one that plays at the corner of Lexa’s mouth when she sees Clarke, subtle and loving.  Almost shocking in its sincerity, the personification of all the things that Lexa is often too shy-soft to say. 

 

Clarke doesn’t remember when she saw that smile last.  Something tears in the fabric of her chest, the unease and dread spills from her newly gashed heart, sticky and heavy against the soft beat of her lungs.  She spends the rest of her class slashing through her drawings, and the smile is nowhere to be found.

* * *

 

Clarke stretches out on three quarters of the couch, leaving only a single cushion for Octavia and Raven to share.  Raven had acted annoyed at first, but ended up cuddled against Octavia anyway, feigning disinterest that was compromised every time she snuggled a little bit closer. 

 

They claimed Octavia’s room for this movie night, her roommate was out hitting up pre-spring break Saturday night parties, but the three of them had opted to stay in.  The movie that plays vaguely catches their interest, but they mostly talk over it, Raven leaning over to feed Clarke gummy bears at regular intervals, laughing when Clarke catches her fingers with her teeth. 

 

“How long do you think it took them to film this movie?” Octavia asks, narrowing her eyes at the screen. 

 

Raven scoffs, “No more then a week, I hope.  This shit is unreal.”

 

“I find it kind of endearing,” Octavia says hopefully.

 

“You would,” Raven snorts, craning her head to look at Clarke, “What do you think, C? Is this movie a yay or a nay?”

 

Clarke watches the man on screen critically, “I think I need to finish it obviously, maybe it can come back from the rough start—”

 

A knock on the door interrupts their viewing and Octavia springs up energetically, dumping Raven onto the floor. 

 

“I’ll get it,” she says, sliding to the door in socked feet and flinging it open.    Lexa stands at the entrance to the room, powdered donuts in one hand and a cardboard container of chocolate milk in the other. 

 

She looks in, bashful and silent, ignoring Octavia’s grin in favor of trying to catch Clarke’s eyes from where she still reclines on the couch.  Clarke ignores her obstinately, immersing herself in the screen, fist clenched tightly against her legs. 

 

A week.

 

A week is an awfully long time to block someone out.

 

She isn’t going to give in to Lexa easily, she decides, no amount of bribery will change things. 

 

Raven groans at the sigh of Lexa, but Clarke can detect the smile behind the noise, Raven has grown to like Lexa despite herself, a fact she will never willingly admit.  Lexa ducks her head cutely, and Clarke tries to ignore it, refocusing on the movie. 

 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Lexa says quietly, stepping into the room, “I had to pick up snacks.”

 

“A few minutes late never hurt anybody,” Octavia says grabbing Lexa’s wrist to pull her further into the room. 

 

“How about a week late?” Clarke mutters from the couch and immediately regrets it as she sees Lexa’s face fall further.  She wishes she could get some sort of satisfaction from the jab, but she doesn’t.  Just thinks about how seven days is an awfully long time to go without holding someone. 

 

Lexa strides over to the couch as Octavia plops back down on Raven, earning a squawk of indignation.  She sets the donuts and milk within Clarke’s reach and considers her thoughtfully.  Clarke still avoids eye contact, staring determinedly straight ahead.  Lexa nods a little bit to herself and settles on the floor in front of the couch, back leaning against the cushions.  Her long legs stretch in front of her and she is the very picture of calmness and patience.  But Clarke can see, out of the corner of her eye, Lexa’s hands twisted in her lap.

 

She is nervous, Clarke realizes, and she misses her with such a sudden deep ache that she thinks she might not be able to bear it. 

 

She tries to ignore her for the next ten minutes, Raven and Octavia still providing a running commentary of the movie to fill in the awkward gaps that Lexa and Clarke create with their silence.  Eventually, Clarke reaches for a donut, biting into it quietly, ignoring the coating of powder that finds its way onto her shirt and fingertips.  Lexa notices and turns to face her, chin propped on the couch, eyes watching Clarke’s mouth with a kind of hungry patience. 

 

Clarke finally looks directly at her, and the throb of missing her increases tenfold.  She glances at the donut in her hand and back to Lexa’s eyes. 

 

“Do you want one?” Clarke asks Lexa, careful and unsure.  Lexa shakes her head slowly but reaches out hesitantly, her thumb hovers over the corner of Clarke’s mouth, waiting for Clarke to signal that it is okay for her to touch her.  Clarke leans in toward her a little bit, allowing Lexa to rub her thumb over Clarke’s sugar covered mouth.  Lexa continues to map out Clarke’s face, fingers pressing lightly into the crease of her cheek where her smile usually sits. 

 

Raven stands up suddenly, tugging at Octavia’s hand for her to stand too. 

 

“We have a bathroom emergency,” Raven says, a little too loudly and off-kilter to be played off as anything casual. 

 

Octavia nods violently in agreement, “It’s nothing to panic about,” Octavia adds, equally awkward, “just a slight bladder situation.”  They speed to the door, hovering in the entrance for a beat.

 

“We’ll be back in like ten minutes,” Raven says with a chastising look at Clarke and Lexa, “make nice, okay?”

 

The door slams shut but not before they hear Octavia yell “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” as final parting advice. 

 

Lexa and Clarke are left in silence and an uncomfortable lull, the only light comes from the paused TV screen.  Lexa’s hand is still on Clarke’s cheek and Clarke nuzzles into it further, relishing in the warmth and smell of her. 

 

Lexa hasn’t broken their eye contact, and there is something scared and careful in the way she looks at Clarke.  “Do you love me?” Lexa asks, all in a rush, hand starting to pull away from Clarke’s cheek.

 

Clarke grabs the hand and pulls it to her heart, wondering if the press of her will heal the gash that resides there now.  “I love you,” she admits in a whisper, “I love you so much more then I should.”

 

Lexa lets out a breath that sounds heartbreakingly close to a sob.  She lets Clarke pull her up on the couch, curling on top of Clarke, their legs winding together while her ear presses into the steady warmth of Clarke’s chest. 

 

“I’m sorry—” Lexa starts, but is silenced when Clarke pulls her to meet her mouth.  The kiss is artless and unbalanced, with Clarke pressing too hard and Lexa too soft.  But they find their fit in a few seconds, the kiss punctuated with small gasps and sighs as they remember the feel of each other. Lexa’s hands find their way into Clarke’s hair, and Clarke drops the powdered donut somewhere on the floor as her sugar sticky hands move their way up the gentle ridges of Lexa’s back. 

 

When Octavia gets back, she makes them clean the donut residue off the floor and couch.  “This is why you guys never come to my dorm,” she mumbles angrily, “you all are a fucking disaster.” 

 

But Clarke sees her catch Raven’s eyes and grin, gesturing at Clarke and Lexa’s hands that are intertwined between them.  Clarke pretends not to notice their silent celebration, deciding she will thank them later when Lexa isn’t looking at her with the smile that evaded Clarke for so long.

 

When Clarke gets back to her dorm room later that night she draws the smile over and over in her sketch book, she swears she won’t forget again. 

 

5.

Clarke has given up on paying any sort of attention. 

 

The rain that was just a drizzle as Clarke walked to class has turned into a full on storm, complete with cracks of thunder that makes the boy next to Clarke startle every time. 

 

There is a window along the left wall of the classroom, only a slight vertical slit, barely enough to see out.  Clarke focuses there anyway, drinking in the fall of rain against the window and the lull of rumbling thunder. 

 

Lexa always walks her home from this class, waiting cool and casual outside the building for Clarke to exit, greeting her with a kiss once they find each other.  It rained while Clarke was in this class a month or so ago, and Clarke had figured that Lexa wouldn’t be waiting to meet her.  But, when class ended, Lexa was leaning against the bike racks same as always. 

 

She had been soaked to the bone, curls slicked flat against her forehead and wet shirt sticking to her stomach, but still smiled when she saw Clarke.  Clarke gave up on trying to huddle beneath her backpack when she saw Lexa, lovely despite the wet and the cold, and had rushed over to her. 

 

She had turned her face up to the sky, and let Lexa kiss rain water off her face with a warm mouth.  Mascara was smeared in dark shadows around Lexa’s eyes and Clarke laughed as the makeup rubbed off on her cheeks as Lexa pulled her close to kiss her again. 

 

Clarke checks the clock on the classroom wall, only looking away to give the boy next to her a comforting smile as thunder cracks loudly and he jumps.  When class ends, Clarke is quick to push toward the door, not bothering to flip up her hood as she stuffs papers into her bag. 

 

Other students hover inside the door to open umbrellas and zip up jackets, but Clarke moves out into the rain, taking in the stormy grey sky and the heavy drops of rain eagerly. 

 

She turns toward the bike racks already grinning, ready for Lexa to greet her, morning-lazy and half smiling. 

 

But Lexa isn’t there. 

* * *

She doesn’t go back to the dorms, just wanders around in the rain before settling in an empty corner of the library, shivering and aching.  She picks up the first book within reach and starts reading it, forgetting everything but the words in front of her and the clinging cold of wet clothes on her skin.

 

She doesn’t see Lexa until later that night.  Clarke showers before she sees her, the harsh spray of the shower so similar to the downpour from earlier that she almost can’t bring herself to go to Lexa’s dorm room afterwards. 

 

But she finds Lexa lying in bed, almost asleep.  Her face pressed into the pillow, already underneath the comforter.  She opens her eyes when Clarke enters, humming out a hello.  She doesn’t mention not walking Clarke home after class and Clarke wonders if she just forgot, wonders if it really isn’t a big deal at all. 

 

She slips under the blankets besides Lexa and turns to face her.  Lexa moves forward and kisses Clarke’s cheek, quick and chaste, before rolling away from her and burrowing further into the blankets. 

 

“I love you,” Clarke whispers, almost desperate in her sincerity, and she shivers like she is still caught in the rain.  Lexa doesn’t respond.  Clarke looks at Lexa’s back, her shoulders already rising and falling with the steady breaths of sleep. 

 

Clarke turns as well, so they are back to back.  She presses her own hand against her heart and wonders when sleeping with someone else started feeling so lonely. 

 

Clarke wonders if something besides her is broken here, too. 

 

6. 

Clarke leaves for spring break today.  The campus is slowly emptying, and when Clarke walks back to the dorms from her last exam the silence is almost deafening. 

 

She is going home.  Home to her mom and their townhouse apartment in the suburbs, home to high school friends and a familiar main street and everything she knows.  Home without Lexa. 

 

Lexa who has become even more distant as her own departure home becomes more eminent.  Clarke tried to talk about it again, but was shut down and knows better then to push.

 

Raven left two days ago and Clare misses her more then she thought she would.  She needs someone to talk to about Lexa, about how stilted things have gotten in the past few weeks.  She doesn’t know what to make of the gap that is forcing its way in between them.  Lexa still looks at her with so much love that sometimes Clarke aches with the immensity of it, but she is shying away anyway.  Becoming even more silent and wary, as though if she draws too close, the intensity of it all will cause her to shatter. 

 

Lexa is scared of something and Clarke doesn’t know how to fix it. 

 

Clarke’s bag is packed and resting on her bed.  She twirls her keys in her hand before slipping them into her pocket.  She runs a hand through her hair and exhales deeply, looking around for anything to give her a reason to stay.  There is a drawing of Lexa pinned over her desk, and looking at it makes her stomach clench in a way it shouldn’t.  Clarke wonders if she might be scared of something, too.

 

A knock on the door interrupts her thoughts and Lexa walks in without waiting for Clarke to answer.  She eyes the bag on Clarke’s bed apprehensively and walks to face her. 

 

Her face is even, but her eyes keep darting nervously to Clarke’s lips and Clarke wants to reach a hand out to soothe her, but keeps her distance instead. 

 

“You are leaving soon,” Lexa says, a statement, not a question, but Clarke answers anyway. 

 

“Yeah,” she reaches in her pocket to feel for her keys again, “Any second now actually.  I was just about to come over to say goodbye.”

 

Lexa takes step closer, but still doesn’t touch her.  “I know you’re mad I won’t come home with you,” she says, eyes searching Clarke’s face, “but you have to know, this is just the way things work in my family.”

 

Clarke feels a familiar surge of anger and chokes it down as she replies, glancing at the bed briefly, unable to hold Lexa’s sharp gaze.  “Shouldn’t you just do what makes you happy?”

 

“Maybe,” Lexa says, breathy and high and nervous.  Clarke looks up at the sound of it, and sees Lexa as she steps forward again, hand reaching up to cup Clarke’s jaw.  Lexa pulls Clarke in for a kiss that catches her slightly off guard, and she blinks, confused, before fully settling into it. 

 

The first kiss is soft, just a nudge of Lexa’s lips against her own.  Clarke relaxes at the feel of her, and Lexa pulls away just slightly.  This time it is Clarke who presses in, her mouth catching at Lexa’s bottom lip before Lexa pushes back against her gently.  Clarke moves her hand to grip at Lexa’s back, nodding into the kiss, still careful and aching at her touch.  Lexa moves to take it further, tilting her head to other side, nose brushing Clarke’s as she goes to kiss her again. 

 

It is Clarke who steps away, mouth faltering against Lexa’s as she starts speaking before their eyes are even open.  “Kissing while we’re fighting?” she says, voice low and raspy, “Isn’t that my job?” 

 

Clarke doesn’t smile even though her words would suggest some sort of joke, and neither does Lexa, her gaze still heavy and mouth set firmly. 

 

“I wasn’t aware that we were fighting,” Lexa answers, level and mild even with the bite that her words imply. 

 

Clarke’s anger surges in earnest now, settling heavy in her chest.  “When are we not fighting anymore?” she asks, voice raising determinedly, “When are we not fighting since you decided to run away from me like a coward?”

 

Lexa’s brow wrinkles and her jaw clenches, “I’m not running away, Clarke,” she says quietly. 

 

Clarke scoffs and steps closer to her, “Just because you are doing it at a snail’s pace doesn’t mean you aren’t running.” 

 

Lexa says nothing, just raises her chin in defiance and watches Clarke stoically. 

 

Clarke doesn’t know where the next words come from, or maybe she does.  Maybe this is what has been building ever since Lexa started pulling away.  “If you want to get away from me so badly,” she says, all spit and fire, “then maybe you should just break up with me.” 

 

Her own words shock her, and she would reel away from them if she could, bury them back in her chest with the dread and the unease that has plagued her for weeks, keep them from ever surfacing. 

 

But it’s too late, they have been said and they sit in the air between them, stifling and heavy. 

 

“Maybe you’re right,” Lexa says. 

 

And this time Clarke does reel back, taking a half step away.  Because she did not expect this, did not expect Lexa to give up so easily.  She waits for Lexa to take it back, to move in and press a hand over Clarke’s mouth, stop the stream of vitriol words that pour from them both. 

 

“Maybe it’s time that we are logical about this, that we think with our heads,” Lexa says.  Her nostrils flare, but her mouth stays horribly calm despite the words.  Clarke can see the tense line of her jaw, and she waits and waits and waits for Lexa to take it back. 

 

“This is what would be best for you,” Lexa says, reassuring herself, swallowing hard around the choke of the words.

 

Clarke mouth shakes now, she thinks that if she could go back thirty seconds, a minute, this would all be avoidable.  “Don’t you fucking act like you are doing this for me,” she hisses around her clenched teeth, “don’t act like this is you being brave.”  She looks straight into Lexa’s eyes, searching for her familiar warmth and pull.  “You just can’t let yourself be happy,” she says, chest heaving now. 

 

“Maybe you aren’t what makes me happy, Clarke,” Lexa says. 

 

The words hit Clarke like a punch to the stomach, and it takes all she has not to keel over.  She know Lexa is lying, she can see it in the shape of Lexa’s mouth and the set of her body, but that means nothing.  The truth doesn’t matter anymore, all that matters here is the intent.  Intent that is obvious in the stillness of Lexa’s eyes, a forced calm that means she has already made her decision. 

 

“Please don’t do this,” Clarke says, voice nearly breaking as she takes half a step forward, shaking her head at Lexa who stands in front of her, so close but already a million miles away. 

 

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” she says, empty and flat. 

 

The look at each other for an eternity of a moment, Clarke’s eyes wet and shining while Lexa’s chest shudders with a silent exhale of shaky breath.  Clarke waits for Lexa to say something else, anything, anything that will make this better.  Instead, Lexa turns and walks out the door.

 

Clarke’s mouth opens briefly, and she means to call out.  She means to tell Lexa to come back. 

 

Tell her that she knows she doesn’t mean it. 

 

Tell her that she is sorry. 

 

Tell her that they can start again.

 

Tell her that she loves her.

 

But the door clicks shut, and Clarke says nothing at all.  

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to visit me at nevervalentines.tumblr.com if you want to talk or look at Buffy gif sets or whatever. I will be posting a one-shot/fill-in Raven and Octavia scene soon, if you are interested. So, look out for that.


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